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User blog:High Prince Imrahil/Return of Herendil Parts 7-8
Travious and Warpig sprinted through the snow like flame through straw, caring little for exhaustion or pain. What they were going to do when they actually reached the goblin fortress, neither was sure. Fortunately, they would never have to make that decision. After a half hour of wild running Travious felt a sharp pain in his arm. He thought it only a cramp, but soon he felt warm blood running down his arm under his thick leather coat. "Warpig!" Each halted, a feeling of total relief after their snowy sprint. But that relief was short lived as each looked and saw the true source of Travious's pain: An arrow had hit him. The fletching was black feathers: "Goblins!" Down from the surrounding hillside poured a sudden barrage of arrows as Numenorean and dwarf sought their shields. Just in time Warpig lifted his buckler over his head and ducked into a snow drift, arrows bouncing harmlessly off of the fine dwarven steel. "Get down!" shouted Warpig, peeking from under his shield to see if his companion had been quick enough: not quite. Two more arrows hit Travious, one in the back of his knee and the other on his foot. Travious was stunned in the pain and his shield dropped from his grasp. . . it fell into the snow as a second volley of arrows filled the air. "NO!" shouted Warpig as he dived out from cover and on top of his friend, hoping to shield them both with his fine Dwarven armour. "I'm too short, Trav! We must find cover!" "I can't walk. . ." Warpig had no chance of carrying the heavy Numenorean without being caught in even more fire. Warpig wished desperately to fire back but he did not have his bow with him: Goblins rained death upon them from above and they were helpless to do anything. Warpig thought about charging up the hillside but that would be suicide, even in his good armour. The third volley of arrows rained down, Warpig managing to protect his friend. But there were at least fifty goblins firing at a mere two targets and Warpig knew the odds were not in his favor. Yet Warpig, not daring to turn his face upwards for fear of an arrow going through his visor, felt something hit him, something solid knock against his armour. Certainly not an arrow or dart. . . Then something else landed upon him. Something large yet fairly light. Warpig dared to look up and behold! Lying upon him were the bodies of two goblin archers, fallen down the hill from where they were shooting! Several more falling even as he looked up. Could it be that the archers had broken into a skirmish and were killing each other? That was unlikely. Perhaps it was a band of travelers or an elven patrol that had stumbled upon the goblins by chance! Perhaps they might aid in finding Herendil! Like a waterfall dead archers began to fall down the hillside, Warpig hearing very little din of battle. The arrows had stopped, the archers being distracted by whatever was happening over the hillside. . . Should Warpig risk going up the hillside? He decided against it, knowing if the arrows started again he would have to protect Travious. But the archers continued to fall, defeated in hand-to-hand combat by something above. But then, both Travious and Warpig froze as they heard a warcry: "In the name of Mevans almighty, you shall fall! I shall rescue my friends!" They thought they might have been mistaken, but when they heard it again they were sure: it was the voice of Herendil son of Eldacar, whom they thought had been in the hands of goblins! At last they heard above they terrified cries and padding feat that signaled the goblin retreat. And down the hill, in full armour and blue cloak, walked Herendil. "Herendil!" shouted Warpig, and the two embraced. "We though you had been captured by goblins!! We found your luggage but no body, so we assumed. . " "No! I was rescued by Copn the Blue and taken to Kvoth!" "Kvoth?!" "I have a tale to tell you!" But both turned to see that Travious had not risen. . . indeed he didn't appear to be moving at all. "Travious!" shouted Herendil in a desperate hope that he might answer. Herendil ran to Travious's side and checked his pulse: none. Again and again, Herendil checked, in desperate hope and horrible grief. "Please! Don't do this to me Travious! Don't die! I need you!" Herendil's voice quivered in total desperation. But there was no reply. Herendil could not even weep, for his sorrow transcended all weeping. He simply lay his head on Travious's chest. Warpig, who stood nearby, simply stood still, utterly grieved. For what seemed an eternity neither moved an inch, neither said a word. Then finally, Herendil took Travious's shoulders and Warpig took his feet as they slowly took the body southwards towards Khazad-dum. PART 8 Herendil sat in a dark corner of the worst tavern in the worst section of the worst neighborhood in Khazad-dum. The tavern was filled with brigands and drunks, a few homeless scattered through as well. This was the lowest point in Herendil's life: his childhood friend had died and Herendil had hit rock bottom. He could, of course, afford almost any fine restaurant in Khazad-dum, for King Thorin Stonehelm was a good friend of his. Yet Herendil didn't want a fine dining experience, he wanted to sit in a cheap tavern and gather his thoughts. Why he had chosen this particular run-down place he wasn't sure: perhaps it was because he was a sad and desperate man and he wanted to be around others who were sad and desperate. And as he glanced around the rotting tables, cheap ale, and drunkards, he didn't think there was anywhere in the world more desperate. "I'll take another ale, bartender" he said, walking to the counter and throwing down a few coins. Such had been Herendil's life for a week after the death of Travious. All had been stricken by the tragedy, but none as badly as Herendil: Travious had been his friend since he was a youth. They had so many adventures together from the isle of Numenor to the purple courts of Dorwinion. But now he lay in a stone tomb under Khazad-dum. 'Should we bury him in Numenor?' Thorin had asked 'And what about telling his kin?' 'Nay to both:' replied Herendil 'He has no kin and we cannot bury him in Numenor as he was discovered there as a member of the Faithful. Lay him to rest in Khazad-dum, old friend.' And so a short funeral was held and Travious was put into a tomb alongside the tombs of Thorin's ancestors. Thorin had offered Herendil to stay in the palace, but Herendil did not want something so formal: He wanted a place as informal as possible. And so he sat in a dark booth in the worst Tavern in Khazad-dum, as informal as things can get. Herendil took his ale from the bartender and walked back to his booth to resume thinking. He wanted out of this war. He wanted out of the pain and suffering: Why did Mevans not simply strike down the so-called King's-Men and end this strife and bloodshed? No, this war would drag on for years, and decades, and perhaps a millennia depending on how things went. . . Herendil ordered another mug of ale. Was there any way out of this war? Any neutral ground? Even to just take a break would be incredible. . . yet Herendil knew it was only wishful thinking. There was no place to flee or hide. Herendil began to wonder if things would ever be the same as they had been before Grevious. . . But presently a dwarven guard walked through the doors to the tavern, casually walking in Herendil direction. "Hello" said the guard, sitting down a crossed from Herendil: but Herendil could see now that it was not a guard, but rather, Warpig disguised in that manner to avoid making a scene as the king's right hand man in a run-down Tavern. "Hey, Warpig" said Herendil, chugging the last of his ale. Herendil had worn the same clothes since he had arrived and they were now covered in dirt and filth. He had not shaved in a week and his hair was unkept. Were this at any other time Herendil would have been embarrassed, but presently he was barely hanging onto his will to live and really didn't care. "You need to get out of here!" said Warpig "I am greatly concerned about your health. . . have you consumed anything besides ale and pretzels in the last week??" Herendil simply waved his hand in an uncaring fashion. "Herendil, I realize you are grieving but you must move on! Grieve in a healthy fashion, not in crashing at some tavern for a week. . . . Where have you even been sleeping??" Herendil gestured to the roof "They rent out rooms here too. . . Warpig shook his head in disbelief. "Herendil have you no dignity? No self respect??" "It died with Travious. . . " Warpig leaned a crossed the table and looked Herendil in the eye. "Numenor needs you. Thorin needs you. I need you. We all need you. Come with me Herendil." "Look, Warpig, you grieve in your way and I'll grieve in mine. I don't care the slightest about anything right now, least of all my health." "Is this what Travious would have wanted?" "Well Travious is dead, so I guess we don't have to worry about that anymore" said Herendil coldly "I am trying to help you, Herendil!" "Then help by leaving me alone!" "NO!" Warpig's words were so firm it felt as if Herendil could've reached out and touched them. There was silence for a moment, the only sound was the various other conversations taking place in the tavern. Herendil was coming around. As cliché as Warpig was, he was right: this wasn't what Travious would have wanted. "Come with me, Herendil" said Warpig at last "Come and stay with Thorin and I at the palace." Herendil staggered to his feet "Very well, Warpig, very well. . ." And the two walked out of the tavern. . . Category:Blog posts